


or the sound of water poured in a bowl

by middlemarch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Humor, Romance, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 06:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: It wasn't difficult to sympathize but it was hard not to smile a little.





	or the sound of water poured in a bowl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tessaquayle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessaquayle/gifts).



Gareth waited to say something. Truly, he had, but after watching Vivian fuss and fret for a solid hour, picking up this ornament and that as if she were dusting them, setting them down again just so and then moving each another centimeter to the right, furrowing her brow, and scowling in the direction of the stacks of documents on her desk as well as the orchids he’d brought, he gambled and spoke,

“What’s got you so terribly bothered?”

Vivian stared at him and daggers were not the weapon she evoked. Scimitars perhaps. Grenade launchers and the jacked-up laser pointers Q insisted on concealing in the brushes of a make-up kit he’d tucked in James’s sponge bag (as a joke or suggestion; a conjecture Gareth and Vivian had very much enjoyed exploring…). He’d gambled—and lost it seemed.

“I’m fine,” she said. If she’d had an ivory slatted fan, she’d have slapped it on her crinolined thigh. If she’d had a knife, she’d have thrown it at the wall.

“That’s patently untrue, love,” he said. “You’ve been sorting through your things like they’re going in an estate sale. And you haven’t touched your tea. It’s gone quite cold.”

“I told you I didn’t want it and you poured a cup anyway,” Vivian said sulkily. Had he ever seen her pout like that before? He had the sudden urge to kiss her, very long and very soft, until she settled in his arms. A glance at her dark eyes told him he was wisest not to.

“I thought it would help,” he said.

“You’re so damn British! A cup of tea is not the solution to everything—and certainly won’t help do anything to deal with the fact that my parents are arriving in an hour—and staying for a week. Here. Not at Claridge’s or the Lanesborough and definitely not at Q’s Aunt Phyllida’s digs—here. And they’re going to drive me batshit crazy,” Vivian exclaimed.

Gareth was wise enough not to remark that Vivian seemed to have already crossed the line into madness or to comment that he’d forgotten about her parents’ imminent visit.

“I’d like to help,” he said, taking care not to make a suggestion, however reasonable it might seem. Or to utter some trite reassurance. She had a wicked throwing arm and she’d been known to bite. He hadn’t minded the biting before, not in the least, but he’d prefer it to remain erotic.

“You can’t,” she replied, but the acid had left her voice. 

“Oh ye of little faith,” he teased gently, finally getting a smile out of her. “I’ve stocked your pantry with every tea in creation—and half a dozen kind of a biscuits. I can get lemon curd if you like.”

“Gareth, you…” she trailed off. It was rare she was at a loss for words. He intended to make the most of it.

“Prince among men? Delightful rogue? Casanova?” he offered, with each answer taking a step closer to her until he could brush back the strands of hair that had gotten loose from her chignon.

“Were very kind. And thoughtful. And have now given me an unexpected insight into your fantasy life, so thank you. For all of it,” Vivian said, resting a hand on his chest.

“How long have we got until they get here?” he said, letting his desire show in his direct gaze, breathing her in.

“Long enough,” she said, laughing a little before she dropped her hand to his and led him towards her bedroom. If his tie was left behind there, it wouldn’t matter so much, at least, that’s what she said as she flung it across the room, to some distant corner. He made her a fresh cup of tea afterward, Darjeeling the pale green-gold of spring time, and she drank it, already most pleasantly soothed by his prior, dedicated ministrations. Her mother wouldn’t find the tie but she found the tea-cup and eyed approvingly the loose leaves in the base.

“Keep this one,” she said and Vivian nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Henri Cole's "Gravity and Center."


End file.
